


With Empty Hands

by geckoholic



Series: author's favorites [34]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He finds Dean glaring at him from narrowed eyes, look him up and down, and there it is, the minute shift in Dean's demeanor that serves as invitation and challenge at the same time.</em> - Dean/Benny, experimental breathplay in Purgatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Empty Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Salty_catfish and rosereddawn fixed this. No, seriously. They did. ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Stray" by The Exies.

Dean doesn't hand out warnings. There are no signs for when he may think a fuck is in order, nothing to precede it. He's as erratic and incalculable as a storm out at sea, and and just as unpredictable about sex. Sometimes it's the need to work off surplus adrenaline, and then Benny's at least able to predict the chances that this might swing out of fight-or-flight and into something different, knows it's an option, a thing that might happen. That's something he gets, a thought-process he can retrace, if thinking's got all that much to do with it.

Other times, it happens out of nowhere. They might settle for the night, Benny on the lookout because dead monsters don't need sleep but alive-and-breathing hunters still do, and Dean will roll over after a few minutes, facing Benny, eyes huge and dark and _that_ expression on his face, hungry and open, and Benny will know it's on. Or they might be wandering around in broad daylight, talking or not, and Dean'll stop, come at him and rub himself all over Benny until he gets on with the program. No rhyme or reason, none that makes a whole lot of sense to Benny at least. For Dean, it probably does. Or maybe not. Hard to tell.

But frankly, he doesn't have it in him to give much of a damn about the why or how when he's got Dean underneath him, writhing and moaning, so fucking noisy and too turned on to care. And hey, that's hot, Benny's not gonna argue with anyone there, every guy appreciates a captive audience. The problem with that, though, would be that they're not in a safe, secluded bedroom. They're in the middle of a dangerous wilderness, surrounded and hunted by all kinds of lethal critters – lethal to Dean, at least, and by now Benny has more than just the one reason to be concerned about whether he lives or dies. Whichever way he might slice it, getting caught out here with their pants down, literally, is not something he's keen on. Dean's mere presence is enough of a siren call at the best of times, he doesn't need to announce their location by screaming down half of Purgatory on top of it.

Which still doesn't keep Benny from indulging him. Since he met Dean down here, _no_ is not a well-used part of his vocabulary anymore. He'd feel bad about it, bit of a pushover, but it's not like he doesn't get anything out of it. Principles are overrated, more so after more than fifty years of involuntary celibacy. And Dean calls the shots about that, it's the way it started and Benny's not gonna go and ruin a good thing.

So yeah, there's the rule, and today's no exception. Dean's been insufferable from the moment he opened his eyes, on edge and irritable for no apparent reason. That they spent the whole day running around without finding anyone who'd be get them closer to that goddamn angel didn't help improve his mood. Benny's almost relieved when he turns around mere minutes from their current hideout – a cave this time, the closest they'll come to safe down here, fuck knows why he couldn't wait until they've got there – and finds Dean glaring at him from narrowed eyes, look him up and down, and there it is, the minute shift in Dean's demeanor that serves as invitation and challenge at the same time.

He doesn't _say_ anything, never does, just backs Benny up against the nearest flat surface, a rock this time, and reaches out for his crotch unceremoniously. His eyes fly up once, quick check if the feeling is mutual, and then his hand snakes into Benny's pants to free his cock, skilled hands coaxing him to hardness before Benny's brain's really caught up with the proceedings. His hands are cold – Purgatory's no tropical resort and the position isn't all that comfortable, sharp edges of the stone digging into Benny's back, but Dean knows what he's doing. He tugs at him slowly, doesn't get rougher until his palm warmed up on Benny's skin. He uses more pressure on the upstroke, presses his thumb to the nerves underneath the head once, making Benny thrust into his hand to urge him on. Dean looks down with a rapt expression as he thumbs the head, mouth slightly open, taken with the sight. It's a behaviour that doesn't jive with an out-of-options straight guy who's adjusting to the lack of available pussy, and the expert skill and twists and tricks that aren't simply learned by playing with your own junk don't point to that either. There's not much of a question as to whether Dean's done this before, with others, topside, and Benny would've given a lot to have been there, been the person Dean learned these things with. 

It's what makes him turn them around, though, the need to take what he's given as long as it's exclusively his, all of Dean for him to take before Dean returns to whoever he's with when he's not currently stuck in monster hell. Dean doesn't seem to mind, judging from his low moan when Benny flips them so it's his back against the cold stone. He wriggles his hips helpfully as Benny fumbles his belt open, shoves his jeans and boxers down in one go, not satisfied until he's got a hand on him, palm grinding past Dean's cock on his way further back. The first finger goes in without anything to smooth the way, not even spit – if rough is what Dean wants then that's what he's getting. Soon he's got Dean clawing at his shoulder, growling half-angry and half in abandon, and with that kind of response it's hard to remind himself that Dean's got no limit there, won't make him stop; it's on Benny to make sure he won't hurt him more than strictly necessary. He pulls his finger out and stares down at Dean, trying to read him.

It's still a mystery to Benny how he even stands it, dry fucks on nothing else than saliva and precome; he knows how his dick feels afterwards, chafed and sore. It's got to be so much worse for Dean, but he never complains about that, neither during nor after. Benny thinks that's probably part of what this is about, that Dean's taking some sort of twisted comfort in the brutality of it, pain as much as pleasure, straight-forward, no second thoughts ever.

Right now, Dean's growling at him some more, low-key animal noise that fits the place if not the person, pushes his hips forward to rub his bare, rock-hard dick at Benny's leg. That's another thing about Dean that's downright intoxicating, how unashamed he can be about this, greedy and selfish, taking what he needs when he needs it, no mind paid to how it might make him look.

His eyebrows crease when Benny doesn't react, deep frown on his face like he's offended Benny would dare stop _now_. “You gonna get back to it or what?”

In lieu of an answer Benny spits at his fingertips generously – making sure it's in Dean's direct line of sight and producing the impatient lip bite he was hoping for – before he goes back to work. He's less frantic about it, more careful, drawing it out, rubs at the spot behind Dean's balls for a long minute before he dips back in. He takes his time before he adds another finger, waiting for the muscle to give way, for Dean to relax around him. This part is more for him than Dean, he knows. Dean might be getting off on being hurt like that, but Benny's not too fond of being the one who does the hurting. He ignores the impatient wriggle of Dean's hips, the way he wantonly fucks himself on Benny's fingers just as much as Benny's fucking him with them.

The angle's a little awkward, like this, standing up, and Benny brings his mouth to Dean's neck. He enjoys the slight flinch as much as he hates it, stark reminder that whatever this is, however much Dean might tolerate him by now, he doesn't fully _trust_ him. It makes what he's saying next come out harsher, more command than suggestion: “Lie down. On the ground, on your back.”

He withdraws his fingers, and Dean scowls at him for a moment before he complies, token protest which Benny assumes to be a reminder that, thank you very much, Benny's not the boss of him. But he steps out of the clothes pooled by his ankles and lowers himself down, arranging himself until he's in the position he's been ordered into. His eyes don't leave Benny's for a second, expression heated and belligerent, like this is a fight rather than a fuck and he's afraid he might be about to lose it. Nevertheless, he offers his body up without hesitation, legs spread obscenely wide, exposing himself, one hand lazily stroking his own cock and the other wandering underneath his shirt, face contorting with pleasure as he's pinching his nipple.

Benny shoves his arms out of the way, roughly, decisively, and pins them over Dean's head. His mouth falls open on another groan when Benny lines up and pushes into him, slow enough that it's sweet torture to him as much as it must be to Dean. The pressure of Dean's body is amazing, hot and tight and perfect. Benny rolls his hips once he's all the way in, moving in Dean without _actually_ moving in the way he knows Dean wants him to, bends down for a messy kiss that Dean reciprocates greedily. Fresh heat washes through him when Dean bites his lip as they part, head following after him, and he can't hold back anymore. His thrusts are vicious, hard, no barrels held and just how Dean likes it, and that's when it starts: Dean all but shouts his pleasure out to the world, string of dirty talk he's probably not even aware of falling from his lips, occasionally interrupted by deep, throaty groans that ring in Benny's ears like the blaring of a horn.

It's fucking dangerous, is what it is, reckless, an engraved invitation to whoever's in earshot. Benny's hand is off Dean's wrist and pressing at Dean's mouth before he knows it, to shut him up, make him be quiet. Not the first time that happened either; by now it's part of their ritual, makes Dean grin against the palm of Benny's hand because he thinks it's funny or something, the idiot. But this time Benny miscalculates, too much pressure too high, and doesn't realize that he's cutting off Dean's breath in the process until Dean starts to buck beneath him, eyes wide and desperate with more than arousal and need. It takes Benny's sex-stupid brain a moment to put the pieces together, but when he does his hand all but flies off Dean's face in horror.

Dean gasps in a desperate gulp of air, chest heaving, but shakes his head when Benny braces his hand on the ground next to Dean's head, remorseful and somewhat shocked at what he did. The last thing he expected to happen is for Dean run his fingers down the inside of Benny's arm with an expression that's wild and hungry.

“Do that again,” he croaks.

And no, Benny won't, Dean's voice is fucked already, breathing still out of synch and too fast, it was almost too much, he could've goddamn _killed_ him like that. Rough fucks are one thing, Benny can deal with that, but if Dean wants to flirt with death by suffocation then he can wait until he's back topside and ask whoever's usually reaming his ass up there. He shakes his head, slowly, somewhat sidelined by the unwelcome reminder that all this is likely going to be temporary, that Dean won't be his for much longer once they're out of here, and he drives in harder, bottoms out, brings his teeth back to Dean's throat instead. Dean's pulse thrums through all of Benny's senses as he licks at the delicate skin, sucks and worries a bruise into it.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, after that, rise up enough so he can bring his hand back to Dean's mouth and press down in a way that'll cut off Dean's breath on purpose. At the same time, he starts to move in shallow trusts, not meant to get Dean off as much as to deliver a counterpoint to the lack of oxygen and keep his wires crossed. He presses down, Dean's breath hot on the palm of his hand, until he hears Dean's heartbeat pick up again, go irregular, which is when he stills and lets up to allow Dean to fill his lungs again. 

On the inhale, Dean throws his head back, his neck a long line and his throat working as he fights to get his breathing under control. Benny reaches out and runs the hand that he just used to suffocate him down Dean's skin, along his Adam's apple and past his pulse point, to where he knows Dean's carotid artery lies. He rests two fingers there to feel Dean's blood flow just below his fingertips, off limits but so very tempting. 

Dean's gaze finds his, brows furrowed, but there's no fear there. The opposite, actually; the damn fool stretches his neck further and closes his eyes, open display of trust that he'd never consider normally. He's making himself vulnerable and he's _aware_ of that, and realizing that is so much more overwhelming than the sex itself, any of the physical sensations. Benny's not quite sure he earned it yet, Dean giving himself over like that, but he'll do his best not to disappoint him. He thrusts in deeper, going with the need to be closer in the only way Dean will allow, and they move together for a moment, Benny fucking into him slow and deep and Dean pushing back in a corresponding rhythm until Benny's satisfied Dean calmed down enough that it's safe to have another go. 

This time, his hand closes around Dean's throat. He doesn't bear down, but rather hooks it under Dean's jaw and pushes upwards with light pressure, just enough to restrict his intake of air without cutting it off completely. The thump of Dean's heart is his guide as he holds him down, counts to ten in his head, releases, then does it again, and Dean goddamn _looses_ it. His eyes flutter open and he writhes, arches his back, rolls up into Benny's thrusts and wraps his legs around his waist. On the fourth or fifth time Benny restricts his breathing like that, Dean bucks up and comes in warm splashes that soil Benny's stomach as well as his own. Benny's eyes are pinned to Dean's face all throughout, cataloging and memorizing every expression, every moan, the way Dean stares back at him like he just hung the moon. He's not stupid enough to believe this will hold, that it'll change anything between them, but he wants to remember it. 

When Benny lets go, Dean's panting hard and grasping at Benny's back, body still contracting around Benny's cock with the aftershocks of his orgasm, face open and grateful and almost shocked. Benny leans down for a kiss, slow and languid and not their usual pace, and comes with Dean's scent in his nostrils, his taste in his mouth and the erratic, still too-fast rhythm of Dean's heartbeat in his ears.

They part, and Dean lets him stay on top of him for about half a minute before he cuts his eyes away, pushes at Benny's chest. “Gross," he rasps, voice scratchy and fucked-out. "Come on. Pull out, lemme up.”

Benny does as he's told, rolls off Dean and puts himself away, still lying on his back while Dean gets up to get dressed. He stays there until Dean bends down to offer him a hand, hauls him up with a mumbled comment about lazy vamps. “We're like a friggin' all-you-can-eat buffet out here in the open, man. Get up.”

Once vertical, Benny readjusts the waistline of his pants one final time and pats himself down to get rid of a few stray flecks of dirt from the ground. He refrains from pointing out that it was _Dean_ who alerted every monster in a five-mile-radius of their presence by wailing like a cat in heat, chooses to take the high road and just grin to himself while he wordlessly trails after Dean as they march the rest of the way to their hideout.


End file.
